


In The Blink Of An Eye

by angeleyeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester are Roommates, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Maybe a tiny bit of angst, New Year's Eve, but not really it's honestly very wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeleyeddevil/pseuds/angeleyeddevil
Summary: Fat rain drops pounded against the window pane, creating a steady, staccato backing track to Castiel’s evening, one which was shaping up to be quiet and uneventful. The world around him was otherwise silent, apart from the faint hum of the washing machine down the hall and the occasional flurry of wind whistling through the only ancient single glazed sash window in the whole place - left over from when this building wasn’t divided neatly into apartments, but was one huge, sprawling house, a reminder of days gone by.It was next to that window that Castiel now sat, cramming himself into the padded window seat, blanket around his shoulders and book resting on his knees, the shutters creaking agedly under the pressure of his weight. This was his favourite place to sit whenever he wasn’t working - it had an unexplainable calm to it, one that washed over Castiel like warmth from the summer sun or a muted laugh and candid smile. He loved to sit and watch rays of morning light dance across the hardwood floors of the living room stroke kitchen, and listen to the dawn chorus as it aroused itself from its slumber and began to signal a new day.





	In The Blink Of An Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Starting with this work, I'm hoping to actually keep one of my New Year's resolutions for once and do a whole load more writing in 2018! (Let's hope it happens...)
> 
> Beta'd once again by M_esh - I know these last few months have kinda been hard on both of us, but thank you so much for the support both inside and outside of writing, it's everything I needed and more to help me make it to 2018.

Fat rain drops pounded against the window pane, creating a steady, staccato backing track to Castiel’s evening, one which was shaping up to be quiet and uneventful. The world around him was otherwise silent, apart from the faint hum of the washing machine down the hall and the occasional flurry of wind whistling through the only ancient single glazed sash window in the whole place - left over from when this building wasn’t divided neatly into apartments, but was one huge, sprawling house, a reminder of days gone by. 

It was next to that window that Castiel now sat, cramming himself into the padded window seat, blanket around his shoulders and book resting on his knees, the shutters creaking agedly under the pressure of his weight. This was his favourite place to sit whenever he wasn’t working - it had an unexplainable calm to it, one that washed over Castiel like warmth from the summer sun or a muted laugh and candid smile. He loved to sit and watch rays of morning light dance across the hardwood floors of the living room stroke kitchen, and listen to the dawn chorus as it aroused itself from its slumber and began to signal a new day. 

Now, though, the skies were dark and the only light came from the few lamps that Castiel had had the resolve to turn on in the course of the afternoon. The winds and rains had picked up as the temperature had dropped, and a winters storm was predicted to roll in from off the coast, which Castiel deemed to be quite fitting, considering the disappointingly mild weather they had had at Christmas. 

A few shouts and raucous laughs from the street below which managed to be loud enough to make themselves known above the noise of the rain served as a rather pathetic reminder that Castiel should really be spending his New Years Eve partying instead of reading, but he had absolutely no desire to wander through a storm just to socialise with people he didn’t actually know very well. They also served as a reminder that the only true friend he had made in his two and a half years of college was also out partying, leaving Castiel to spend the last few hours of what had been one of the best and worst years of his life combined alone. 

He tried not to let that bother him, but despite the fact that his comparative literature final was in two weeks, he was finding it increasingly hard to focus on his battered and abused copy of Oscar Wilde’s _Poems in Prose_ , and increasingly easy to focus on the glaring absence of his best friend.

Castiel had met the enigmatic and lively Dean Winchester last year by means of an introduction orchestrated by fate (that is to say, the two of them ran into each other quite literally while both late for different lectures, and - lectures forgotten - went out for coffee as a way of apologising to each other). They had hit it off almost instantly, and six months later were signing a rental contract for a charming two bedroom studio flat on the outskirts of town, soon to become their home for their third and final year of college. 

Castiel knew that lying was considered a sin, which is why he had refused to tell himself over and over again that the last few months had not changed his life for the better in every way imaginable. 

Before meeting Dean, he was pretty much the textbook definition of a recluse. He had few friends, sat alone in lectures, and made no effort to connect with anyone who made any kind of outreach towards him at all. He supposed most people saw him as a typical nerd, studying too hard to get a degree which would ultimately mean little when thrown head first into the world of work, but the reality was a little more complicated than that. 

Castiel had a good life at home, good friends from high school with whom he was still in contact, and enjoyed every last second of his studies, so the fact that on some days he couldn’t even bare to leave his room for fear of having a mental breakdown both confused and surprised him in equal measures. 

On the days where Castiel was close to giving up because of one small bump in the road, or was on the verge of a mental break down, Dean would be there to help. He always was. He’d tell Cas to take it easy, grab a book from one of the multiple shelves which lined almost all of the walls of the flat (mainly to cover up the extremely unsightly eighties wallpaper), and push him gently towards his coveted window seat. 

Castiel didn’t know whether it was the principle or the actual act, but it never failed to make him feel a little better at the worst of times, a never ending source of light in the darkness which Castiel couldn’t help but be drawn to like a moth to a flame. Light made of caring and kindness and warmth and everything good about the being that was Dean Winchester. 

Maybe that was why he went and fell in love. 

For most people there isn’t a single moment in time where their brain short circuits, everything comes screeching to a halt and they have a sudden epiphany: the person they have been thinking about or doting on or dating for a while is the person with whom they want to spend their entire life. Instead of being something so memorable, it develops over time, like a flower planted in winter comes to bloom in the spring. 

Castiel, however, can in fact pinpoint the exact moment in time he had that epiphany. On a bright and breezy Saturday morning in mid October, while curled up in the exact same position he was sat in now, morning cup of coffee warming his hands just a touch more than the sun was warming his face. 

He had been there since early morning, like he often was, and it took a little longer than usual for Dean to disturb Castiel’s bubble of quiet with his out of tune humming and the clatter of pans as he busied himself making a late breakfast for the two of them. Perhaps it was Dean’s tardiness which made Castiel take more notice of him that day - the way he tutted in impatience as he waited for the coffee maker to finish, the way he took a few moments to savour the drink before springing into action and starting breakfast, the way he moved about the kitchen with an almost unnatural ease. None of these things were new to Castiel, but they fascinated him nonetheless, at which point the aforementioned epiphany hit him with its full force, and he was left not feeling embarrassed or exposed like he supposed he should have felt, but invigorated and joyous and suddenly full of all the happiness in the world. 

More often than not, that feeling resurfaces whenever he and Dean are in the same room together, just going about their daily tasks like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

He loved Dean, there was no mistaking that, but the one night stands and casual hookups which Dean was so fond of had slowly but surely convinced Castiel that Dean was not interested in him. And so he had kept his peace with the knowledge which was creating fissures in his heart, kept it locked away so as not to entirely ruin his friendship with Dean. It brought him down sometimes, but Castiel knew that Dean’s friendship was more important than anything to him. 

A particularly loud gust of wind and the consequent rattling of the window brought him back to the present, and Castiel decided he needed a distraction from thoughts which may or may not send him into a tumultuous depressive mood. 

Uncurling himself gingerly and setting his book down on the coffee table, he wandered through the living room to the kitchen, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. Moving on automatic, he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil before grabbing a mug that at least looked clean and began the wait, tapping his fingers in impatience on the sideboard. He supposed Dean would be home late, so there was no point in waiting up for him just to wish him a happy New Year - he could do that tomorrow - and, besides, he needed sleep. 

He was so focused on filling his mug to the brim with his favourite brand of green tea that he didn’t hear the front door open, nor did he hear the distinct sounds of his friend removing his shoes and setting his keys down on the little wooden table in the hallway. 

In fact, it was the voice of his flatmate which alerted him to his presence, tentative and almost nervous sounding. “Cas?” 

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. “Through here!” He called, unable to mask the sudden bewilderment at the fact that his friend was back early in his voice.

A few seconds later, Dean wandered through from the hallway, the front of his shirt clinging to his chest as he tried to shake the rain water out of his hair. Castiel was momentarily taken aback until he remembered the storm outside, and chastised himself for forgetting to remind Dean to take an actual coat with him instead of just his leather jacket earlier that evening. 

“Dean!” Castiel hated how his voice squeaked a little and how just the sight of his friend drenched from the storm made his heart rate elevate. “Weren’t you supposed to be at a party?” 

Dean shrugged and threw his hands in the air in a sort of despondent motion. “Yeah, well... change of plans.” 

Castiel nodded, feeling exuberant because Dean was home early, and bitter because his friend should really be spending his evening with his course friends, like he’d planned to do. He turned back to his tea, shoulders slumping slightly. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Cas, can I... can I talk to you for a second?” 

“Sure.” Cas replied without looking up, stirring his tea intently. “What about?” 

Wringing his hands together like he so often did when he was nervous, Dean toed the floor with his foot. 

I’ve... been doing some thinking. A lot of thinking, actually, and- shit, this isn’t gonna work.” 

“What’s not going to work?” Castiel turned away from the counter, towards Dean, and deliberately gave him that confused-squinty expression which he knew was Dean’s weakness - romantic couple or not, they had still been sharing a flat for months. He knew exactly how to reduce Dean to a blubbering mess within the blink of an eye.

“Okay, I’m- I’m gonna say some things, and if-“ Dean ran his hands through his hair and attempted to start again. “If you don’t like what you hear, you can go. I don’t-“ 

“Dean.” Castiel made his way towards his friend. “You know you can tell me anything, righ-“ 

“I’m in love with you.” The confession was so quiet, so heartfelt that Castiel almost missed it over the sound of his own voice. Dean sounded as if he were about to cry, water still dripping off his hair and onto his face, pain and terror at rejection in his eyes. “I- I realised it. At the party. Tonight. I realised that I love you so fucking much. And I had to tell you, I-“ Dean drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” 

To put it simply, Castiel didn’t know what to do. 

The floor had just been pulled out from underneath him, and he felt like he was free falling with no end in sight, like someone had pointed a gun to his head and pulled the trigger with no hesitation, a car crash and a soft embrace, a tidal wave and the passing of a hurricane all at the same time. 

“Okay.” The whisper brought Castiel plummeting back into the sphere of reality, and it took him a few more eternal seconds to figure out that Dean sounded utterly dejected. That he had been so wrapped up in the emotion of Dean’s confession that he hadn’t even responded. “I should-”

“Dean, wait-“ 

“No, you-“ Dean’s voice broke, and Castiel knew he was a few split seconds away from crying. Dread settled deep in his stomach. “You don’t want that. I get it.” 

And with that, the love of Castiel’s life turned to leave. 

Castiel wasn’t going to live with that. He’d fucked up enough times in his life to know that when he wanted something, he had to seize it and never let it go. 

Because if he didn’t, Dean would leave. If he didn’t, this would all be over. Forever. 

“I love you too.” Dean stopped mid stride, soft gasp of realisation all too audible in the dean silence that followed Castiel’s confession. “I’m-“ 

And then Dean was kissing him, hot and hard and needy and even more perfect a first kiss than Castiel could ever have imagined. Dean’s hands were on his shoulders, touching him with fever, but as if he were a holy object. Dean’s tongue was in his mouth, finally gaining permission to do what Dean had denied it for so long. Dean’s name was on his lips, a hushed and reverent whisper, a shout of pure delight. 

Cupping his cheek, Dean was the perfect balance between dominating and gentle, forceful and soft, and everything in the world was suddenly right. 

The two of them kissed like they were starved of any kind of affection their entire lives, panting and gasping, on the verge of devouring each other whole. 

Eventually, the heat died down, and the kisses became less like something from a poorly shot porno movie, and more like something out of a tender and slow-moving romance novel. 

“Since when?” Dean murmured against Castiel’s jaw line, some time after they had slowed to a stop completely. It took Castiel’s desire-clouded brain a moment to catch up. 

“Since the beginning.” Dean huffed a laugh. “What?” It was the least pointed question Castiel had ever asked someone, still too caught up in the moment to really care about proper intonation. 

“Nothing. Just-“ Dean kissed him again, deep but full of all the unspoken emotion Dean was unable to display. “Takes one to know one, I guess.” 

This time, it was Castiel’s turn to laugh. 

“God, we’re both idiots, aren’t we?” 

Dean pulled Castiel closer, and he had no resolve to complain at the dampness of Dean’s collarbone or the water now dropping onto his hair. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Cas.” 

Castiel had already decided that he wouldn’t have it any other way, either. 

Castiel perked his head up. “Then I suppose a toast is in order.” He smirked softly, grabbing Dean’s hand and squeezing it with all the effort he could muster. “To us?” 

Dean returned his smile. “To us.” 

They stayed like that for a while, not kissing, not embracing, but simply existing, close enough to feel the other’s breath, their joy expressed through subtle eye contact and even subtler smiles. 

“Come to bed with me, Cas?” Dean spoke after a while, voice spent but laced with the dulcet tones of someone who was high on their love for another. “We don’t have to do the whole sex thing. Not yet, I mean. I don’t think I’m ready for that, but...” Dean cupped Castiel’s head, resting his lips on the other’s forehead. “Stay with me?” 

It crossed Castiel’s mind that he might have to pinch himself at some point, just to check that this wasn’t some fucked up dream. “I would like nothing more, Dean.” 

The next morning, the two awoke practically tied together amid Dean’s blankets, giddy smiles on their faces and laughter in their voices. 

And, well, if Dean decided that Castiel needed to learn to appreciate the art of a lie in by giving him the best blow job of his life, then that’s entirely their business.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on Tumblr @aetherealcas!


End file.
